


facepainting

by reystarkrogers



Series: facepainting [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 16:20:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17831966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reystarkrogers/pseuds/reystarkrogers
Summary: Bucky paints Clint's face.





	facepainting

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t deal with Feelings, so. I needed to get this out of my system.

 

Clint adores kids but has a hard time with crowds.

 

As often as crowds can be easily used to melt into on a mission or used to avoid something--or someone--on a daily basis, they make Clint antsy with trying to sort out the volume and layers of sound.

 

Clint’s positioned himself behind a telephone pole adjacent to the dunking booth, where Steve, in American flag swim trunks, is grinning encouragingly at a tiny girl in a tutu holding a baseball, her face painted like a tiger with the orange and black stripes smeared along her left cheek.

 

This was Tony’s fault, really. The Avengers-sponsored fundraising festival was a direct result of a recent giant robot incident that flattened an evacuated children’s hospital. Stark Resilient would match all funds raised to build a new one, and, as mandated by Pepper, each Avenger and associated personnel were stationed somewhere to generate good PR.

 

Clint got stuck at one of those water gun shooting games and rapidly became bored out of his mind. Clint’s now considering finding a new hiding place because from behind his telephone pole with the sun beating down on the top of his head, he’s had to watch Bucky paint the squishy cheeks of six wide-eyed, squirmy kids, wearing a crinkly-eyed smile and alternating between biting his lip and poking his tongue out of his mouth.

 

It’s torture, because Clint has irreversibly become very, very sweet on Bucky Barnes in the recent months. Clint’s skin itches, from the sun, obviously, so he takes a lap around the shaded trees at the edge of the festival, leaving Thor with his booming laugh and infectious smile to deal with the rest of the kids queueing up for the water guns.

 

Dusk begins to settle in, the crickets chirping, the sun dipping low, the whole nine yards. Clint sighs and makes his way back around to check on Thor.

 

Bucky’s swirling his paintbrushes around in a purple cup, and Clint is drawn inexorably forward, the inside of his chest swirling along with the paintbrushes.

 

Clint sits down at Bucky’s table and picks up the menu-looking thing with all the facepainting choices and waves it at Bucky. Bucky raises an eyebrow and sets his brushes on a paper towel.

 

“Can you do a tiger?”

 

The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirks up and he sits down on the metal folding chair facing Clint’s and scoots forward until Clint’s right knee is trapped between Bucky’s.

 

“Hold still,” Bucky says, his voice as low as the sun setting behind him.

 

Clint stills and holds his breath before remembering to breathe through his nose. His eyes skip over Bucky’s features: his long lashes, his ice-blue eyes, his full bottom lip caught between his teeth.

 

Clint’s eyes dart away and his face feels warm under the cool lines of paint Bucky gently swipes on his nose, his cheeks, his forehead.

 

Clint loses a bit of time just feeling. He refocuses when Bucky hooks a finger under his chin and drags Clint’s face forward, to draw his whiskers, presumably, but Clint forgets how to breathe again because he’s caught Bucky’s gaze this time.

 

Bucky openly meets Clint’s stare and Clint watches the curve of Bucky’s smile as he sets down his paintbrush and closes the short distance between them, his hand warm on the back of Clint’s neck in contrast to the cooling evening.

 

Clint’s jolted into breathing through his nose again when the soft press of Bucky’s lips becomes swipes of tongue and edges of teeth.

 

Clint loses time, but Bucky pulls back slowly and presses their foreheads together, undoubtedly smearing orange and black paint onto his own forehead. Clint grins at the thought.

 

The cool night drapes itself over them, but Clint stays warm wrapped in Bucky’s arms.


End file.
